Breeze
by musicbendr
Summary: Love is not smothered by distance or time. Love does not disappear because of good-byes." Everything happened as it did on the show, only Naomi left that summer, creating a destructive effect in Emily. T for bits of language. Now a full story.
1. Prologue

**I'm trying something new here: I didn't use any names. And while that works well when we're talking about a boy and a girl, it's a bit harder to do when talking about two girls. So I hope you don't get confused or anything by it. This might be a one-shot or more- you never know (that means review!). And if I do end up writing an actual story, it won't all be in this no-name format.**

There is a breeze sweeping through the carnival. There is a breeze twisting through the brightly colored midway, weaving through the cars of the rickety wooden roller coaster, snaking across the grass and the dirt and the gravel and pushing to the girl. The one lonely girl sitting on a wooden bench, half disappeared in the darkness. The girl didn't mind the darkness; she was too far gone to mind much of anything.

Never mind the happy people floating by with their balloons and cotton candy and tired old laughs. God, if the girl could find just one thing to make her laugh. Really laugh, instead of cry. Crying, crying, crying; it was all she did anymore. That, and press her lips against a bottle that was always dirty and far too often empty. No, she hadn't done much. Not since that lousy- the girl forced herself not to go there. It was a carnival, after all. Fucking happiness and joy or something to that effect.

Her friends had forced her to come, forced her against her will. Nearly dragged her out of her little cellar, somewhere she was perfectly content to stay. But they had thrown her here into this lively world full of things the girl could no longer understand, because she no longer wanted them. The carnival had lost its delights; the midway no longer sparkling, the deep fried treats no longer tantalizing, the fun houses no longer mysterious. Everything became an unchanging blur, all filled with pretty colored swirls and pictures of _her_. Nothing but her filled the girl's mind, everything that had happened when she had left years ago.

And where was the girl now? Twenty years old, barely kissed anyone since she was sixteen, spending most of her life with a bottle by her side and a distinctly empty breeze in her bed. And where was _she_, that beautiful girl who had left her four years ago, practically handed her the bottle she now depended on, now despised? Probably out fucking a couple of lads in Cyprus or Spain or wherever the hell she'd ended up. Or having fun. Or doing anything besides sitting on a bench in tiny little carnival, listening to tinkling music and watching dancing lights move on the night sky's black canvas. Because that was all there was: the girl, the music, the lights, the sky, and the bottle. Can't forget the fucking bottle.

She missed the girl like hell, like the way a small child misses her parents when there are monsters hidden under her bed. There are still monsters hidden under her bed- or, more appropriately, in her _closet_. It was almost a bizarre routine that she had established in her little flat in Amsterdam, something that bordered on an obsession.

Every night, she would come home. It would generally be late, for she would've been out doing something political or artsy or something generally non-conformist, and non-conformists didn't have 8:00 bed times. But whenever she would get home, she would toss her keys somewhere- anywhere- and tell herself she'd worry about finding them in the morning. Then she would eat some terribly trashy food and watch whatever late night program that happened to be on. She wasn't watching it; not really. It just provided a background noise, because her own thoughts were too scary to confront. She left the telly on as she moved through the motions of living- and they were just that: motions and nothing more. No feeling was involved as she brushed her teeth, slipped into the same pajamas she'd had since she was sixteen. They still felt as comfortable and worn-in as they had four years ago and, if she pulled them tightly to herself in a such a way that is appeared she'd never let go and took a long deep breath, she could almost feel her adolescence creeping up on her again. The gentle touch, the soft kisses, the aggressive breath, the fingers, the legs, the stomach, the chest, the thighs, the hair, the eyes, the face-

And she always stopped there. Because if she pictured the girl's face, it would be too much. Just too damn much for her. And so she would slowly drag her feet along the floorboards out of her room, down the darkened hallway and into the still living room, switch off the television, and collapse onto the couch because she couldn't bear to sleep in a bed. Alone. In truth, her bed had only been used a grand total of seven times since she'd moved in.

Because she couldn't stand the thought of sleeping alone in the bed without the girl. She couldn't stand the thought of sleeping with the breeze.

The girl trudged through the outskirts of the carnival, out onto one of Bristol's lonely dirt roads. The bottle swung from her tiny, delicate fingers, threatening to slip out and smash into a million little pieces on the ground. But it never would, for the girl needed it too much. And besides: after a certain number of chugs (and the girl was certain she was nearing that amount now), a certain memory always popped up. Always. It was something that couldn't quite be fought, a crimson tide of soldiers assaulting her peace world of nothingness.

She tossed and turned on the rough couch. It hadn't been very comfortable to begin with, and the years had squashed the stuffing, pulled it out and dumped it on the ground. She could barely sleep under the thin blanket next to the window fogging up with the cold. And whenever she couldn't quite make the sleep she so desperately needed overtake her, her mind- her fucking one track mind- always, always landed on one memory.

_She watched the girl read the letters carved on the tree over and over again, the girl clearly not believing what had been written. The girl would never believe that this was good-bye, she knew. But she had to go. She really did, for reasons beyond her comprehension. And if she herself couldn't understand why, then neither could the girl._

_So, with that thought in her mind, she cast one more glance back to what she had scratched into the bark and the lovely girl- who might even be her one true love, the love of her life- staring it down._

_Naomi_

_Emily  
_

_Love is not smothered by distance or time  
_

_Love does not disappear because of good-byes_


	2. Emily

The quiet of the lake never faltered, never wavered, and, most importantly, never harmed. Silence had never been a weight on her shoulders or something to avoid. In truth, Emily felt more at home in the tranquility of the chirping world around her than in the raucous carnivals and screaming clubs her friends dragged her into, Ther loud music nothing; it set up an atmosphere pumped full of that tinny noise that didn't really sound like an instrument at or the offensive pulsating language backed by the same rhythm, the same beat as the lives of the people jumping along to it.

Sometimes music was appropriate for the mood, Emily knew. Right then, in front of a glassy lake with a carved tree behind, was one of those times. Often, when she would come out to the lake alone, she would bring an old and battered CD player, from a time when she drew rainbows on everything and her biggest worry was when that she wouldn't be able to get to the cinema that weekend. Simpler days. Dreamer days. Part of her had never recovered.

So Emily would sit and wait; for what she didn't know. Or rather, what she didn't want to admit. Part of her said that she was waiting for a miracle. Of course, she knew exactly what miracle she was hoping for: Naomi. She wanted Naomi to come back from wherever she had gone- she could rise out of the fucking lake like the creature from the Black Lagoon for all Emily cared- so that she could punch her, kick her, and then passionately kiss her. Truthfully, if Naomi showed up at the lake at that moment, Emily didn't quite know what she would do. Probably faint or go into shock or something to that effect. And then get angry. Really angry. What right did Naomi have to waltz back into her life after disappearing for four years? How could she expect that Emily would simply be waiting for her (even though, in fact, she was)? How could she expect-

But Emily had to stop herself, because she always slipped into these little tirades and she would have to remind herself that there was no Naomi, and probably never would be again. Not to say that Emily thought she had died- she had entertained the idea briefly, but she knew that Naomi's mum would've informed her of this. She had gotten exceptionally close to the woman, Gina, when Naomi had up and left. Gina didn't know where her daughter had gone, either, but she'd given her the means to do so. At first Emily had exploded at Gina, verbally ripping her to shreds, even reducing the older woman to tears at one point. And by then, seeing that heart-wrenching image she had creating, all Emily had the strength to do was sit down on a groaning wooden chair and ask why.

But Gina wouldn't tell her. In four years, Gina had never managed to tell Emily why, mostly because her daughter had forbidden it. And rightfully so. In Gina's opinion, it might crush Emily more to know the truth than to be kept in the darkness. Because while the reason itself was horrible and painful, it might provide Emily with hope. A hope that she shouldn't possess. Gina knew her daughter better than anyone, and she knew that Naomi would never be coming back to Bristol. But that didn't mean she'd never see Emily again; on the contrary, Gina knew for a fact that the two of them would meet up again. She went about once a week into the woods to walk the dog (she'd gotten a dog after Naomi had left, to fill the void, but it was never quite the same) and stumble upon the tree she had first found per her daughter's instructions.

Emily knew very little about Gina's thoughts on these matters, even with their ever increasing closeness. The subject of Naomi and her disappearance morphed from being the only subject they discussed to the one taboo subject forbidden to be mentioned. Emily didn't much mind that they never discussed it, for she had learned that wild speculation often just led to violence and tears.

Four years ago, Emily would've pulled out a cigarette at this point and taken a long drawl to calm herself down and make it a bit better. But now cigarettes tasted like shit too painful to swallow (because Naomi had always had a bit of it clinging to her breath, her kisses) and the drugs became too awful to manage (because they had those hallucinations- things that brought Naomi back to her). The bottle was a perfect combination of the two, not too strong, not too weak, and nothing to reminded her of her dearly departed. That's what the rest of the gang referred to Naomi as: Emily's dearly departed. Everyone thought she had a boyfriend who had died in Iraq or something similar to that. No such luck. Some days- terrible though it may sound- Emily actually wished Naomi were dead. Not through anger or hatred, but just so she would know why Naomi wasn't coming back. Death was an excusable reason. Being an immature little prick was not. And Emily couldn't quite work out why Naomi had run; if anything, she should've been the one to run. Her mother had almost kicked her out after the Love Ball debacle, the one true platonic friend she had run off on some silly adventure of misguided love, her sister no longer hostile, but alien, refusing to speak to her. James and her father did their own thing, not bothering with her, either. But her mother screamed, screamed in that horrible way only mothers can, in a way that's not really screaming at all; more so it's the loud voice that's calm and controlled and comes out in quick, measured, staccato bursts. Every day, she would escape to the lake. Every night, she would escape to Naomi's.

Until the day Naomi up and left. Emily didn't know, couldn't be to fathom why. Everything had been going so well for both of them; she could easily tell Naomi felt the same emotions. But then she just left. Emily had analyzed everything of Naomi's: room, schoolbooks, computer, even the clothes left in her drawer. _Everything_. And she still hadn't been able to figure out anything. But maybe she would today. Yes, today she would learn something.

And that was why she had come out alone to the lake today. Every inch of her tingled with anticipation, not feeling the peace that the location normally brought. And she knew that the information today would be special, really point her in the right direction for once. Something in the breeze told her.

The breeze that swept through the lake, the breeze that brought a person with it. The person smirked, her icy blue eyes twinkling at the irony of the situation: poor, sweet little Emily, all alone, and Katie, back at the homestead laughing it up, sleazing it up with Cook. It wasn't really fair at all, but if there was one thing this person knew was how to laugh at the little unfair things in life- otherwise it would seem pretty fucking depressing. But she managed to wipe away her smirk, take the twinkle out of her eyes as she approached Emily. She might've known how to laugh at irony, but she wasn't a heartless bitch. At least, not anymore.

"Hello, Emily."

Emily turned, heart simultaneously flying and plummeting in anticipation of the many pages of e-mails, the recitation of phone calls she was about to receive. News that could break her heart, or maybe only bend it, but never, ever fix it.

"Hello, Effy."


	3. Effy

**A/N: Sorry I haven't been updating. I've been on spring break and traveling away with no computer. So this is what I have. And I've decided that it will be in the format of a Skins series: one chapter for each character and a group one at the end.**

Effy walked over to Emily, for the first time seeming a little bit awkward. It's not ever a good feeling to know that you might be breaking someone's heart. And doing it for someone else, someone who hadn't the courage to do it for themselves. Bloody wanker, that's what Naomi was. But Effy had grown to like Emily quite a bit and she felt that she deserved to know the truth. Or whatever portion of the truth Effy could give her, that is. Even she didn't know everything. The only person, Effy suspected, who knew everything was Naomi herself. And maybe this would be a way to get her back, to get her to admit that.

"Thank you, for doing this for me," Emily muttered, clearly embarrassed to be asking for help. Effy suspected that her friend hadn't asked for much help in these last four years. But Effy of all people understood the thrill of independence, the lovely feeling of not needing anyone, especially after losing someone. She also understood the safety, the knowledge that you _didn't_ need someone, that you could get on without anyone, and that no one could break your heart.

Effy smiled at her, a little bit of encouragement for poor, broken Emily. "Not a problem. I know you- I know you still want to know."

"Yeah, I really do." She laughed bitterly at herself. "I probably shouldn't."

"You have a right to know why she fucked you over so bad."

Tears filled the brims of Emily's innocent brown eyes. It broke Effy's heart and made her want Naomi's blood all at the same time. She'd never tell anyone, but Emily had always pulled her heartstrings in a way that no one else in their group ever could. Even Panda. Panda was _too_ innocent, too naïve, too willing to let herself be taken advantage of. But Emily had climbed up and changed and deserved the happy innocence she had found in her relationship with Naomi. Then the bitch had pulled it all out from under her.

Effy touched her hand gently to the other girl's shoulder, suddenly getting the feeling she was the first to give a tender touch in four years. "I don't have all the answers."

"What?" That one word said so much.

Effy pulled the papers, the reams of e-mails from her pockets. "Yeah. I'm sorry, but this is all I have. She never told me just why she left. I've been trying to work it out for years, but I can't. Maybe you can. You know her the best. Unless she's found some fancy new friends wherever the fuck she is."

Emily looked horribly shocked at this, speaking as she rifled through the many pieces of paper. "First, there's no way I know her better than you. You've at least had communication with her in the past four years. Second, how do you not know where she is?"

"E-mails, Ems. They don't require addresses." Effy sighed and pulled a cigarette from her purse. She offered it to Emily, who looked at it bitterly.

"I don't. Not anymore," the other girl muttered.

Effy lit hers and took a deep drag. She knew that it wasn't really clearing her lungs, but it somehow felt that way, like she was getting rid of the last cigarette she smoked, the last memories she'd made. "You don't do anything anymore?"

"No. Not really. Not drugs." It appeared to Effy as though Emily didn't really speak to people, and especially not about Naomi. This crushed Effy like nothing else, knowing that Emily had gone back into the person she was pre-Naomi.

"You do anything?"

Emily wiped the tears from her face. "Alcohol. A lot. Too much. I'm fucking addicted. But not drugs. I can't. I can't do them." The tears came down too fast for Emily to wipe away, so she just buried her head in her knees, sobbing over a love she'd never let go and the life it had led her to. "I'm a fucking wreck, Effy. I don't do anything anymore. I don't even shag anyone- I tried to once, and I had a bit of a mental breakdown. I was dead drunk and she checked me into a mental hospital."

Effy listened to the story, listened while the breeze provided the background music to the tragic monologue.

"I checked myself out, of course, the next day. But... I was never the same." She giggled slightly, and a hiccup formed in it, so Effy could tell that she'd been drinking earlier. "I think maybe I should be back there. It's not normal. _I'm_ not normal. She was just my first love, right? I should be over that by now."

"Maybe she was your only love." The words spit themselves out of Effy's mouth before she could stop them, almost like trees being pulled up from their roots and tossed about by the wind. But Effy's always believed that. She's never thought that someone could be that hopelessly devoted and be just in cute puppy love. Never had she believed Naomi hadn't been Emily's "one". The trouble, it seemed, was that Emily didn't happen to be Naomi's.

Emily paused as if she'd never thought of it this way. Effy supposed she hadn't, because the pain might outweigh whatever resolve she could still possibly possess. And nobody wanted her to turn suicidal. "Can I- can you just read those e-mails?"

"Sure. I'll find the good ones, yeah?" Emily didn't speak. "Ems? Just remember- remember you've got friends and a life. The world's waiting for you, if you'll have it. JJ tells us about you. And we're all worried."

"Not worried enough to help?" Like Effy, Emily hardly recognized that words had come out of her mouth and once she recognized them, she could scarcely believed she would say them.

"Fuck, Emily, don't be like that." Even though Effy's words sounded harsh, she managed to keep a steady voice. "You're the one who didn't want help- you almost ran poor JJ straight into the ground, he wanted to help so much. And all you wanted was a drink. Back then, I suppose, there were smokes, too. And the drugs."

"I haven't smoked since she left," Emily whimpered. She dropped the subject of the friendships she'd heartlessly destroyed, knowing that it was a battle she would lose. A battle she deserved to lose.

Effy suddenly felt a bit guilty, inhaling her cigarette in the presence of a girl who so clearly despised them. "Right. Let's get to this mail, shall we?" She pulled out the one on top, one she'd made sure she knew where it was. "This is the first thing I ever got from her: 'Effy- Hi. I know we've never really been the best of friends, although you were always around when me and Ems were having a "moment." And you seem to have your shit on straight when it comes to other people's relationships, so I thought I'd talk to you. I can't really tell you where I am or why I've gone, because I don't want Emily to know. I'd actually prefer if you didn't tell her about me or anything. Stupid and immature, I know, but I think that that's pretty much all I am. That, and a complete cunt. But I had to go away, Effy, I just had to. Just like right now I have to tell this to someone, even if it's rambles that make no sense. No fucking sense. That's all I really wanted to say, and I thought maybe you'd be able to help. What with all the lovely information I've given you... I really fucked her over, really screwed with her heart. And I don't want to ever do that again. It's why I left. It's why I had to go.'"

Emily was crying by that point, droplets of water beating down so hard on the rock she occupied you'd think it was raining. "Stop! I don't- I can't... no more of them."

"One."

"What?"

"One more, I promise. Then I'll leave to rot in your little paradise."

"No."

"Well, whether you like it or not, you're going to hear it." Effy cleared her throat, tossed her cigarette into the ground, crushed it with her heel, picked up the e-mail, and grabbed Emily's hand. Partially to keep her from running, partially to give her human contact she hadn't received from a girl (JJ had provided what little he could, but he was a boy and, well, _JJ_) in four years. Emily didn't react physically to Effy's warm touch, but Effy could see it in the girl's tired eyes: worn ache, unrequited love, brokenness, alcohol, all there for years. But maybe a sparkle returned in that instant Effy touched her, maybe a little bit of the hope she'd lost.

"'Effy- This is the last e-mail I'll be writing for a while, if ever. You've been a fucking life saver these past years, but that's just what Bristol is- the past. If I can ever move on from what I did, what I left, then I have to let it all go. That includes these letters. I don't want to stop talking, but you're part of a past I've got to distance myself from. I'm sorry, Eff... I really don't want this to be good-bye. So when I stop being such a fuck-up, I'll write again. I promise. I might even call. Seriously. When I'm done being a prick, I might even come back. I still... I still love her, Eff. Still.'" Effy put the e-mail down, seeing Emily's universe implode in her eyes. It all happened in the girl's eyes.


	4. JJ

**Just a friendly request: if anyone who reviews is British or has lived there for a prolonged amount of time, could you please tell me how I'm doing on the dialogue? I'm from the US, and this is my first attempt with British slang and such. Also, I apologize that this chapter is so dialogue heavy. But it had to be done.**

"Hello? Hello? JJ?" Naomi walked into JJ's empty flat, using the spare key he'd told her (in much too many words) was taped above the mail slot inside the door. But empty wasn't quite the right word to describe JJ's flat; abandoned felt like a more accurate term. It didn't look like anyone had been in there for a while: pots lay messily all over the stove and counters and nearly every other space in the kitchen, dust lined the moth-eaten furniture, rugs and carpets and blankets fell threadbare and worn and full of holes all over the couches and chairs. His bedroom looked unused, full of messy, half-finished models and oddly un-mussed sheets. The bathroom had little toilet paper on the roll and none in the cupboards, no soap in the dish, no toothpaste on the counter. But then again, JJ had always been weird. Maybe he liked to keep his house this way.

Naomi decided to wait. She moved one of the horrible rugs onto the floor, tossed it down with no care. Not knowing when to be expecting JJ, she pulled out her phone. Whenever she used it, she always felt a twinge of guilt, because it was so... so... anti-idealist. She had been like that so much as a teenager, but she'd lost that when she'd lost the ability to be "revolutionary." At least, back in those days, having an open lesbian relationship had seemed fairly revolutionary to her. Too revolutionary. And from that point in time, her wildly liberal values, her passion for social change, her desire to care, had all been reduced from their former glory. She had become a shell of the old Naomi, the one with ideals and goals and aspirations and dreams. And for some reason, the only thing that reminded her of her past self was the very thing that had tragically, accidentally shattered those ideals onto the floor like a splintering of broken glass: her love for Emily.

"Naomi! Bollocks! You're coming today? Is today the fourteenth? I should've tidied, I should've gotten this place spruced up and nice looking and all and-"

"JJ."

"-and now you have to look at my pigsty, and it's not really a good first impression. Well, it's not a first impression, more like a first-time-in-four-years impression-"

"JJ!"

"- it's really horrendous, to have you walk in on all this. I'm, well, I can't keep house. I don't even try. I don't even live here really, I spend most of the time crashed at Freddie and Effy's place; have you seen them? They're brilliant. But you probably don't want to hear that because your teenage love turned into a heaping bit of heartache for you and Emily and she's been drunk non-stop for the past-"

"JJ!" Naomi lifted up her shirt, revealing her bra to him. It immediately stopped his rant.

He gulped, stared at her for a moment, waiting until she had put her shirt back down, fixed its wrinkles, before he spoke. "Emily does that to me all the time."

She allowed herself a laugh, but just a small one. "I know. She told me her trick years ago."

"Was that before or after you broke her heart?"

Naomi said nothing. JJ never, ever had been that blunt to her. Or anyone, as far as she knew. But then again, there was a lot she didn't know. A lot she had missed. "You've manned up, Jay. I didn't... think you'd be like this."

He walked away from her, into the kitchen to put away some of the pots. Or at least, that's what it seemed like. But more likely, he just wanted things to bang, to clatter. "You're avoiding the question. Which one is it?"

"Before." Her voice came out in a meager squeak, almost as if she didn't dare to admit it to JJ. He always seemed to know things before everyone else did- maybe it had something to do with that huge diagram he'd had on his wall in college. And then she remembered there hadn't been one in his bedroom. "What happened to you, Jay?"

"What are you talking about?"

She sighed, unsure of how to phrase this. "You seem- and don't take this the wrong way- more in control of yourself and everything."

"Normal?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

He finished with the pots for now, moving to sit at the newly clear table. "I did a lot of personal growth. It took determination, perseverance, and courage."

"I'm sure it did," she muttered.

"Determination," he put in quickly, "is a noun. It means 'the quality of being resolute; firmness of purpose.' Perseverance also belongs to the noun family, and it means 'steady persistence in a course of action, a purpose, a state, etc., especially in spite of difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement.' Finally there's courage? Do you know what that means, Naomi?"

She was scared and clearly showed it. JJ was about to come down on her hard, all for things she deserved to hear. But knowing that she deserved to hear them didn't make it any easier to hear them. "It's... it's a noun. It means bravery. But it's a stronger word- it's more than bravery."

He smiled, and it was genuine. JJ had always liked having his little fun games, and he did indeed love to win them. "And do you have any of those traits?"

"I used to." Naomi had tears forming in her eyes, and they brought back to JJ with a painful jolt the tears that spewed from Emily in hopeless heaps when Naomi had betrayed her. Stabbed her in the fucking back. "God, I used to have morals. I used to have everything: passion, fire, morals, idealism, dreams-"

"Love?" JJ dropped his accusing tone, suddenly sensing that the root of the whole bloody thing was fast approaching, ready to swallow both of them in crashing wave.

"That, too." She allowed the corners of her mouth to quirk up, a tragic reminder of a much better time. "So much love I didn't know what to do with it... I got scared, JJ. Fucking terrified."

His face didn't show any sympathy, but his voice didn't turn back to stone, either. "And you think I haven't been? We were all terrified for you, when you left. Terrified for Emily, too. But not enough to run away."

"I didn't want to, OK!" Naomi pushed herself off the counter she'd been leaning on, her voice rising for the first time. "I didn't fucking decide one day to up and leave- well, I did, but not for the reasons you think! You don't know the bloody half of it!"  
JJ remarkably managed to maintain his composure, and even managed to offer a challenge to the slightly raging Naomi: "Then tell me."

He couldn't predict what was going to happen next, what it was all going to do. She broke down. Absolutely fucking broke down. In that semi-insane way people do when the drugs fuck them up beyond belief. Only Naomi was completely sober, perfectly in her right state of mind. But JJ guessed that she probably wasn't quite in a proper mind to begin with.

"JJ... I don't know what to do! I don't fucking know! I fucking love her, JJ! I _love_ her!" JJ could barely make out what she was saying, the garbled mess of words slurred by her tears and emotions.

"Then why did you leave her!" He was getting a bit angry with her, the way she acted as if she was the victim.

"I had to... I couldn't let her see me... like this..." Everything trailed off and she was no longer angry, everything became suddenly and creepily peaceful, tranquil.

He knew it was here- the big reveal, the reason she'd left. And he was almost positive it wouldn't be good enough. "Like what, Naomi?"

"Depressed."

"Depressed? That's it? You were sad?"

"No. Fucking clinically depressed! Suicidal, you twat! I didn't leave because I was just 'sad!'" Naomi hissed, clearly angry with him. "You of all people should understand that!"

He leaned back in his chair, using the kitchen table to prop himself up. "I understand mental disorders, Naomi. But... how bad was it? To make you go?"

She sniffled, finally letting the tears stop. But that was only because she didn't have anymore left, nor the strength to let them fall. "Every day was a battle. To stop myself from... ending it all. I- in my head, I knew that I couldn't let Emily see me like that. She'd think it was her fault. But it wasn't. She... she kept me going, made me stronger, made me feel _real_. And worth something. That was the thing: I didn't feel like I was worth it, like I wasn't worth a shit."

"Oh."

"That's all you have to say?"

"Even though I've made great strides, I'm still not a social butterfly." They both chuckled, relieving the tension. JJ wasn't about to let her go, though. He'd gotten this far and he wanted the whole story. "So that's where you've been? Learning to live with this?"

"Yeah. For the first two years, anyway. Then I had to sort myself out. Make myself... understand love and friends and how to tell people and who the fuck I like and who the fuck I love."

"Did you figure any of that out?"

She nodded. "All of it. That's how... I managed to come back. I figured out that love is an emotion, a feeling, something that can be felt by anyone, anywhere, at any time. And I happened to feel it for Emily Fitch, at college, four years ago. And friends are the fucking greatest gift in the world and I really ought to get more of those. As to telling people, I figure I'll say it if it comes up."

"Like when you explain why you left?" He gave her such a serious look it was hard to say no. Not like she would want to anyway; she'd come so far.

After clearing her throat, Naomi eked out, "Yeah. Like then."

"And what about who you like?"

"Boys and girls. Simple and clear. I like them both, but I only love one. A girl."

"Do her initials by chance happen to be E.F.?"

"Yes. She's quite lovely. Do you know her?"

JJ smirked. "Are you being coy?"

She paused. "A little bit."

"I like that. It's the old you."

Naomi let herself look happy, be happy. It had been a while. Even with the depression meds, she hadn't felt like everything would be normal. But now she had JJ on her side- sort of. "There's one more thing. I've been talking with Effy over e-mails; I never told her why I left, but she's kept me informed about everyone's lives. And recently... I sent her one saying I was leaving Bristol and everything about it behind. It was in my past, and I would need to abandon it all for a while. But I don't. I just need a bit of time without talking to Effy or you or anyone. Just a couple more days. And then I need to talk to Emily. If she'll have me. I just hope I don't go suicidal on her or anything... God. Fucking hell. I hate depression."

"I hate high-functioning autism," JJ put it.

"Cheers to the fucking broken," Naomi muttered. She folded her arms across her chest, looking quite horrible.

JJ sighed loudly, swallowing his pride, letting go of his absolute hatred for the girl, seeing her as someone in the same boat as him. "Naomi... um, er... would you like to stay? Here? For the night?"

She didn't say anything at first. Didn't move, didn't respond. Then, all of a sudden, she threw herself in his direction, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her head into his shoulder. "Thank you, JJ. Thank you."

He awkwardly stood up to brake the embrace. "Well, er, sure. You said you could use more friends, right?" She nodded sincerely, which caused him to break out into a broad smile. "You've got one. A tired one. I think we should both get some sleep. If you'll let me get into my fuzzy pajamas, I'll let you have the bed once I'm done."

"Oh, I don't need the bed. I don't want the bed."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're a guest." He was trying to be insistent and firm, but not sound demanding, which was how he usually got with this sort of thing.

"JJ. I haven't slept in a bed for four years. I'll be alright."

"Why haven't you?"

She sighed, hesitated, got all flustered. "Because... I can't bear to go to sleep without her in my arms, can't bear to wake up without her beside me."

He nodded, understood. And he walked away to put on his fuzzy pajamas and snuggle under his covers, while she grabbed one of the threadbare blankets and draped it over herself as she settled in on his old, lumpy couch.


	5. Cook

**A/N: AP review. More reviews. Studying. Homework. That's the way school is gonna be from now on- sorry guys. I'll try and get once a week updates. And I can't remember if I said this before, but there will be one chapter for each character. I think I said that. But I'm not sure, so I'll say it again. Thanks for all the reviews :]  
**

Cook hadn't changed a bit. Well, maybe he was a bit more sensitive than he used to be, but he hadn't changed by much. He still partied to dawn and drank vodka with every meal- when he actually had a proper meal, that is. Most of the time he got himself high on the pills, got himself off with the girls, and got his meals from a soup kitchen. Just one more disgusting citizen living off government welfare. Or so it had appeared. As much as he stole from soup kitchens, Cook would put back. Anonymously, of course. An old shirt here, a couple of bread loaves there. Just in front of the kitchens and homeless shelters in the middle of the night, he would sneakily leave a couple of things he'd taken from extremely posh grocers and houses of fancy parties he'd been to. Really, he liked to think, he was a bit of a fucked up cavaliering modern-day Robin Hood. And he figured that that was good enough.

So when he wandered around drunk on that balmy June night through downtown Bristol and noticed a pretty girl about his age sobbing in the gutter, he didn't stop. _I'm fucking Robin Hood, _he thought. _I don't need to help this girl_. But she was pretty, and he was drunk, and he thought he could get lucky maybe. Against his better judgment (which he generally ignored anyway), Cook tossed out his vodka bottle, creating a disturbance with a cat in the bush he'd hit. The disturbance was enough to get the girl to turn her head completely his way, and he knew her in an instant. Even though he was horribly drunk and it had been four years, he knew her. He could never forget a girl like her.

"Fuckin' hell!" Cook shouted once he'd recognized her. Upon hearing his exclamation, she got up, wiped her tears, and didn't show a trace of sadness or a trace of fear in her determined, unreadable eyes.

He jogged toward her; she stepped back. But she sort of knew that he was _someone_. She just couldn't place him. Because really, though he acted about the same, he looked so different: stronger, taller, more together even though he wasn't. Plus, he was horribly pissed and had managed to have his face half painted with moons, stars, and clouds. And it was dark. So really she had no chance of identifying him.

Cook finally stopped when his breath gave out and his stomach clenched. She hadn't moved that far from him at this time. "Bloody hell, Naomi, it's me." She stared at him, not breaking her cold hard gaze. "It's me! It's Cook! I'm- oh, look, I'll show you! I'll prove it! Let me show you my cock. I still have that tattoo-" He wildly went to unzip his pants, but Naomi rapidly put a hand on his arm to stop it.

"Once was more than enough, Cook," she implored.

He fumbled with everything, trying to fix his belt and zipper. "You still a muff muncher, then?"

Naomi winced at his vulgar use of a phrase she had once used to describe herself. "I'm both now, actually. I've got it sorted."

"Good for you," he slurred. "So what brings you back to Bristol? Off to glue together poor little Emsie's broken heart?"

Naomi shook her head, crossed her arms in front of her chest, got a bit defensive. "I don't what the fuck I'm doing back here, to be honest."

Then, as if just realizing he hadn't seen her for four years, Cook shouted a little too loudly, "Hey! Where've you _been_! I mean, here you are, but where've you _been_!"

"Lots of places." Naomi was purposefully avoiding the question, and she hoped that the drinks had dulled Cook's already dull intuition and sense of caring.

No such luck. Apparently nowadays, alcohol enhanced it. "Bollocks! C'mon, you've gotta have stories, yeah? _Stories_!"

"I don't really want to talk about it now, okay?" And just like that, she walked away. Walked out of his proximity, walked down the street. Hopefully walked out of his life forever. Honestly, the last person she'd wanted to run into was him- other than Emily, of course. And maybe Katie. Point being he was near the bottom of the list.

But once again, he surprised her. It took him a good five minutes, but eventually he began to jog after her and then went into a full-out sprint once he saw her speeding up. "Hey! Hey! Naomi! What the fuck! It's Cookie! I just wanna have good time!"

Without turning around, she said, "I'm not having sex with you, Cook."

He caught up to her, caught his breath, and gave her a funny look. "I know that, princess. There are other girls I could do that with, you know."

"Princess?"

"You like it?"

"About as much as I like you."

He laughed raucously again. "You're still awful to me. After all these years. Four years of fucking mind trips and you'd think you'd get a bit of clarity."

"I did," she told him. "Just... not really about you."

He suddenly looked hurt- genuinely hurt. "Oh, come on, Naomi. You think I haven't changed a bit since you last saw me?"

"I would really like to believe you had," Naomi muttered with a certain sadness about her. "I would really like to believe all of you had... become better people and all of that. But so far, you haven't given me any evidence to the contrary."

Cook smiled at her. "Come along, Maid Marion, and I'll provide you with some extremely compelling evidence."

Naomi had never been in a house this nice before: chandeliers, real hardwood floors, leather furniture, Victorian furniture, elegant staircases that stretched into the hand-painted sky of a ceiling. Nor had she ever been in clothes this nice before. Cook had insisted they go back to his place, get dolled up, and hit the streets. Seeing as this was his time to prove himself, Naomi had just let herself follow him, let herself trust him. It felt odd to trust someone- it was something she hadn't done in years. But her experience taught her that even though Cook was a wanker, there was worse than him. And wasn't even half bad.

So they'd gotten properly done up in his little shack. She'd marveled at this collection of fancy clothing stuffed carelessly under what appeared to be a thoroughly used bed. He'd found her a beautiful ball gown, something out of Cinderella. It was classic white, of course, but with so many ivory patterns weaving across the bright background, criss-crossing the bust and flowing down to the skirt, and golden beads sprinkled in wandering lines that looked like trails of pixie dust, it was hard to tell the dress was white at all. In fact, when Cook had first laid out all the dresses for her to wear, she had been immediately drawn to that one. Why? At first instinct, she wasn't quite sure. But then realized- it would the perfect dress for Emily. The perfect _wedding_ dress for Emily. And so, naturally, she had to pick it. Even though she knew it looked awful on her and was not her style at all; she needed some reminder of Emily, of why she had decided to pass through this crumby town on her way out.

Cook had covered his eyes, turned his back while she got changed and she paid him the same courtesy when he transformed from his mud-covered tattered togs to a brilliant tuxedo, almost reflecting the soft glow of the room's dim light.

Noticing her shocked face, he asked, "Surprised?"

"A bit."

And the next thing she knew, they'd ended up at this extravagant household with people dressed as lovely as them. Cook had even managed to get them past the butler- the place had a bloody butler- by pointing to his name on the guest list, which had a "plus one" next to it. He politely nodded to a couple of people as he walked past with Naomi on his arm.

"Cook. What the fuck happened to you?" Naomi hissed once they were on the floor, engaging in a waltz-like dance.

Despite the party attire, he was still off the piss drunk and laughed a bit loud for this crowd. "I'm full of secrets, yeah? You've just got to look for 'em."

Naomi chose to ignore his cryptic remark and instead asked, "I still don't see how you've changed. Just because you've moved up socially doesn't mean you've done the same personally."

"That's deep, Naomi-kins, but this isn't what I wanted to show you," he told her. "This is just the route; the destination ain't here yet."

"Then why don't we go? You've got me curious." Cook appeared to be either flattered, turned on, or both by this statement because the next second, he expertly twirled Naomi off the floor and back into the crowd. Using his well-honed skills, he blended in and slowly managed to move through the party-goers, up the stairs, and into the lesser-used hallways. A few couples meandered through the walkways, but it was no where near as crowded as the downstairs area.

"What are we doing up here?" Naomi wondered.

Cook smiled again- Naomi was getting really weirded out. "C'mon, babe. Let there be mystery."

"I'm still not a babe."

"I know. Doesn't mean you can't have a nickname." He checked out each of the rooms, clearly looking for one in particular. "Aw. Here we go." He pushed open the door, revealing a well-furnished, old-style bedroom.

"Cook. I already said I wouldn't shag you- I don't care how nice this room is," Naomi insisted.

"Relax. Have some trust in the Cookie monster." He harshly ripped open the closet door, finding ridiculously lavish clothes stockpiled on hangers. "Perfect. Here." He stuffed all the clothes onto Naomi's arms and before she could protest, he'd grabbed the rest for himself and made his way towards the window. "Excellent. The window didn't open to the backyard where people were still partying, but over top of the garage. It had a flat roof that would make for an easy landing. Naomi had already figured out the point of this mission, but she still didn't see how it would make Cook a better person.

He was busy pulling a rope out from under his cummerbund and attaching it into the side of the window. Cook had obviously installed some sort of electronic release system on so he could retrieve the rope after he went down. He clutched his parcels of clothing close to his chest and hopped down the rope. Naomi just stared at him. "Coming?"

"It's a little harder to do it in a full-length ball gown," Naomi muttered through gritted teeth. She managed to slide carefully down the rope and land on the roof next to Cook. "Well. That was fun. Where to next?"

He smirked again. "You'll see."

They arrived at the destination, which to Naomi looked like a warehouse that had been turned into a whorehouse, but she wasn't about to make assumptions. For all she knew, it could be some secret underground party where you had to bring a sacrifice of wealthy England. "What is this place?"

He pulled out a mask from his pocket. "You'll see. Here. Have one." He handed her a mask, too. It looked like something from a masquerade ball, and Naomi even thought it was kind of cool. He may not be showing her his new and improved character, but he certainly was showing her a good time.

Cook knocked on the door three times and then stepped back. To Naomi's surprise, a fairly average-looking woman opened it. "Oh, hello there. And who's this?"

"One time engagement." He handed the woman his clothing like he knew her. Maybe he did know her. "Hey. Doll-face." He gestured to Naomi, requesting she give the woman the clothes. Naomi handed them over wordlessly. What the fuck was going on?

"See ya later," Cook said to the woman. She simply nodded curtly to him, closing the door, her arm laden with clothes.

As soon as they'd walked away a little bit, Naomi grabbed him by his shoulders. "What. The. Fuck. Was. That?"

"Look at the sign, babe," Cook told her with a laugh. Clearly he was enjoying this. Naomi turned back to the building and read the sign on top: "Little Sunshine Charity Center."

Awestruck was just about the only feeling Naomi could say she felt right then. "You donated something? To charity? What?"

"Try not to act too shocked." Cook twisted on his heel and began to walk backward. "You still know the way home, yeah?" She nodded. "Good. And Naomi?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time you judge someone's character, make sure you know them first. Little life lesson for ya." He laughed his famous Cook laugh, and as he left her in the flickering streetlights above the Little Sunshine Charity Center, she was pretty sure she had made a friend.


	6. Freddie

"What's the best pub around here?" Effy threw her satchel on the chair near the entrance to her flat. It had become a dumping place for her and Freddie's things, a mess of packs and coats and hats and torn-up fliers from street fairs and concerts.

Freddie turned from his position on the couch as he lounged around watching football, his laptop open and glowing, but the Word document in front of him blank. "What, Ef?"

"Best pub in Bristol. What is it?" she repeated, kissing him happily before hopping over the couch and squishing up against him.

"The Bell is pretty good. It's on Jamaica Street. But why?" Freddie had picked up a job with a small-time newspaper to pay his way through the bit of uni he'd completed, but he'd found a real knack for it. Over the past few years, he'd graduated to a restaurant/nightlife critic for one of Bristol's larger papers, the Bristol Evening Post. Freddie had come to enjoy writing, using most of their wild teenage years as inspiration for his many short stories and poems.

"Emily's in need of a drink- a lot of them," Effy replied.

Freddie closed his laptop, noticing how much this appeared to bother Effy. "What's happened now?"

"I showed her all those e-mails I've been receiving." Freddie nodded vaguely; he'd been told about the e-mails, but not their content. "She... didn't take it well."

Freddie shrugged. "Can't say I blame her. If you did that to me... bloody hell, I've no fucking clue what I would do. Probably get on my skateboard while I'm completely doped up and then get hit by a car."

"Freddie! Now you've put ideas in my head about what she's going to," Effy said, worried.

He shook his head at his girlfriend. "Ef, come on, cool down. You're the one who wanted her to go to the pub in the first place. Besides, she's been like this for four years."

"Freddie!"

Even after four years and loads of real world experience, Freddie didn't have quite the command of words he wanted to. When he spoke, that is. Writing always seemed easier. "I'm sorry- but I think Emily can take care of herself. She's been taking care of herself since college. Sort of. Alcohol's kind of been doing that for her-"

"Freddie! She's-" But Effy didn't counter it because she knew he was right. Freddie did certainly know more than he let on. "Alright. Maybe she's been taking care of herself for a while, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't help her."

"Great. And how do you propose we do that?" Freddie didn't look up from his twiddling thumbs, but he did manage to keep the twinkling smirk off his face.

Effy sighed, not finding this at all amusing. "Emily needs something from Naomi, a word or an  
'I fucked up; I love you' or a 'Fuck you.' She needs something."

"So you want us to get them together?"

"I never said that."

"It was heavily implied. Besides, Naomi's not going to agree to that. From what you said, she's fucking sick as shit," Freddie told her. He laid back even more, crossing his arms behind his head. "Maybe it's Naomi you should be taking out for drinks." A smirk- just a little one- flickered on and off of Freddie's face as he watched the wheels turn on Effy's. "What're you thinking?"

She returned his little coy look. "I think that was a damn fine idea, Fred."

"Do I get a reward for that one?" He gave her puppy-dog eyes, hopeful. Ever since that last e-mail Naomi had sent, the physical aspect of their relationship had been on the decline. He wasn't worried, of course; he knew the whole deal would blow over soon enough and they'd be back to "making monkey" as Pandora _still_ said. Probably in a lot hotter ways than before.

Effy ruffled his hair and kissed the top of his head. "Not right now. Gotta keep the mystery alive, yeah?" She walked out of the room, making sure to put a little bit of sway in her hips, push her shirt up so Freddie could see her ass.

He leaned back against the couch, banging his head and said half-sarcastically, "Fuck you, Effy Stonem."

Freddie could hear her loud laughs radiating from their bedroom. "You wish!"

"This is wicked brilliant! What's she back for, Ef? Has she got off the crazy train by now? It was the pills, wasn't it? She was all bonkered and then she got busted, didn't she, Ef? Busted in the gut."

"Pandora, perhaps if you were to stop speaking for a moment, Effy could tell us." Thomas and Pandora made the strangest couple any of them had ever seen, but they complimented each other. Sometimes Freddy thought the only reason they worked was because Thomas ended up being the only person who was so quiet that Panda could actually finish all of her thoughts. He also seemed to be the only person who thought they were interesting.

"Thank you, Thomas," Effy said, shooting her best friend a look. Pandora just smiled widely, innocently. "Anyway, don't crowd her or anything. We don't want any weirdness- this is supposed to be nice and normal and just very low-key. We don't need to, to-"

"Alienate her," Freddie finished. Everyone looked at him. "What? It's not that weird of a word to use."

Pandora sighed. "We're not looking at you, Fred-o. We're looking at what's behind you." She pointed at the bleached blonde girl near the door. Freddie had to squint to really see her through the hazy smoke and the crowd of people, but there was no denying it: bright red skirt with the same color suspenders, blue jean shoes with knee-high rainbow socks, white-and-pink striped shirt. Only one person he knew could wear something that should have so horribly clashed and make it look like a fucking masterpiece.

"Holy shit," he found himself blubbering. "It's so weird... to actually see her." His three companions seemed to be having similar reactions to the almost Twilight Zone scene playing out in front of them. Thomas put a sweetly possessive arm around Pandora's shoulders, in assurance that he would never leave her like that. And Pandora buried herself tighter into his jacket, in assurance that she'd never let him.

Effy shrugged her way through the crowd, muttering, "It's no use to see her if you don't talk to her." She pushed through the hordes of people in an attempt to get closer, but she feared that it would be no use because Naomi had picked the one spot that people just swarmed. Maybe it was Naomi's presence that caused the swarms. Effy wasn't quite sure, but she didn't rule out that option. "Naomi!"

Naomi's head turned almost too fast, like she didn't expect Effy to actually find her here. Even after she had set up the meeting. Naomi didn't quite know why she had agreed to the meeting; possibly because the call had come just after her adventure with Cook, and that had left her a bit out of it. At any rate, there stood Effy, flashing out at Naomi's eyes in a way completely separate from the crowd. Naomi shivered; Effy's blue, blue knowing eyes still cut deep down into her the very same way they had when she was sixteen.

"Hello, Effy," Naomi mumbled once she got closer to the girl.

"Don't have to so proper, Naomi. It's just me," Effy said, albeit quietly. She was fairly sure Naomi was ready to shatter into her arms. And just a moment later, she did.

Engulfing Effy in a hug, Naomi didn't cry at all. To Freddie, watching from his spot, it looked like the reunion of two friends who hadn't seen each other in years, but for some more innocuous reason- like one of them had gotten a job as a travel writer (a job he would kill for, incidentally) or an international footballer. Not two friends reuniting after all the history Effy and Naomi had. But then again, maybe Naomi had nothing left to cry about. It was weird. Still very, very weird.

Effy dropped her hand into Naomi's in a rare gesture of true compassion, but Effy certainly wasn't doing all of this for Naomi; she could hardly give a shit about the girl anymore, yet she still continued to act like she did. Why? For Emily. All for Emily. Because Effy really did give a shit about her.

When they reached the group, everything stretched into an awkward silence. Freddie tried to come up with some words for his long-lost friend, but nothing appeared. For some reason, anger crept up. Freddie had been the only one not angry at Naomi for leaving Emily; he knew that some people were just naturally fucked up, and as shitty as that was, he really couldn't be bothered to dwell upon the wankers of the world. Maybe it was because he'd watched Emily's tragic decline, but now he suddenly realized that he should be upset with her, even horribly angry with her.

"Everyone, you remember Naomi," Effy said stiffly; she was a little pissed at all of them for not making much of an effort.

"Rings a bell." Freddie slowly eked out the words with hints of sarcasm and smiles. Effy fixed her gaze on him in thanks, although it merely served to remind him that all was not well.

Naomi looked at them all, at their inquiring faces and disapproving stances. "I'm bloody sorry I fucked up so badly. But I can't take it back, and since none of you want anything to do with me, I'll just go."

And she did go; she went quickly. At Effy's glance, Freddie hurried after her. "Naomi, wait."

"Fuck off, Freddie. I don't need to hear how much you hate me." She kept her back turned to him to hide it, but he could hear the tears flowing like a strangled vibrato through her words.

"I don't hate you. I never hated you," he said truthfully. And though he'd been angry a couple of seconds ago, he had honestly never hated her.

"Then what do you want?"

"To help."

"Has Effy rubbed off on you, then?"

He shook his head. "No. I think I can help- I did a similar sort of bit with Katie way back in the day," he finished with a laugh.

It was a laugh Naomi didn't share. "This is different, Freddie. I didn't hurt her; I broke her."

"Maybe you did- but maybe you can fix it."

"Are you fucking insane? There's no fixing this type of mess."  
"You'll never know until you try," Freddie implored, passing on a bit of stoner wisdom he'd heard repeated a million times by his editor at uni, who happened to be high all the fucking time.

Naomi was about to respond, but the sudden slack-jawed expression on Freddie's face took away whatever words were in her mouth. He was off in the distant, spotting another someone almost impossible to mistake: red hair, simple clothes (those he could see, anyway), and a bottle lifted high, high in the air with a hand that swayed along to the rhythm of the girl's hips. "_Emily_?"


	7. Katie

**A/N: Sorry it's a bit on the short side, but I thought it was a good stopping point. Hoping to have the next one up by Wednesday. **

The red-head spun around at the sound of that name- it was not her own, but it was close enough to warrant her attention. Shocked, she saw Freddie standing and calling for her, well, her sister, but it was close. They hadn't the best of relationships, though it had generally been fairly close to good for the better part of four years. Her relationship with the girl standing next to him, however, could have been a hell of a lot better.

"What the fuck, Freddie?" It became readily apparent to both Freddie and Naomi that he had called the wrong twin. And Katie sure scared Naomi much more than Emily did. Katie shouted at her ex-boyfriend as she crossed the room through the crowd. "That had better not be who I-" The last of that sentence was lost in a jumble bodies that Katie squeezed through, but all three of them could easily guess the ending. And unfortunately for Katie, she was correct.

"Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now." Katie shook almost visibly with a pent up anger and rage that had been sitting there, smoldering for four years. She was ready for a fight, a physical fight like they'd had at the Love Ball. The fire inside had been on the back-burner for too long.

Naomi didn't hesitate to bow her head and walk away; she knew that she deserved every bit of Katie's wrath, and she knew even more deeply that she couldn't take it. But someone thought that she needed to take it: Freddie grabbed her arm hard just as she was about to disappear and dragged her back to face Katie.

"Freddie!" both girls exclaimed, though for slightly different reasons. Katie couldn't believe that he'd be this assertive, that he'd care this much about something that wasn't Effy. Naomi couldn't really believe he'd ever actually cared about _anything_.

"What? You two should talk. Sort out the fucking mess you both made," he yelled at them, though not so much out of anger, but over the escalating noise level in the club.

Katie looked just about ready to slap him. "We _both_ made! What the fuck, Freddie! _She_ walked out on _my_ sister! What do I have to do with anything!"

"You weren't exactly making things any easier for either of them," Freddie told her forcefully, yet calmly.

"And this is all my fault!" Katie was beside herself; what right did Freddie have to criticize her? _She_ hadn't up and left someone she loved and come back four years later after no communication. "Freddie, I'm sorry, but since when the fuck do you care?"

He shrugged. "I always have. I just never really knew how to show it. And now I know. And what I know is things like this don't just happen, Katie. There's always a reason," Freddie informed her coldly. Katie knew exactly what he thought the reason was, and she certainly had neither the desire nor ability to stand and watch him silently blame her for something she didn't do. Though Katie was surprised at Naomi's newfound ability to keep her mouth shut.

"Oh, why don't you come out and say it, Freddie? You're so damn in touch with everyone's feelings now. Go on then. What's the reason?" She honestly believed that Freddie would turn back into his old self, the one that hid and smoked and skated and didn't do much else; otherwise, she never would've challenged him.

He took a tentatively strong step closer, a snake coiling to strike. "You want to know the reason? Everything was shit- you were shit, and your parents were shit and it was all coming down on her!" Freddie gestured wildly to Naomi, almost hitting her in the face. She honestly had no idea why he cared so much about her or anything related to her. Freddie had never been that type.

"Oh, Freddie, fucking little Freds! You know this whole conversation isn't about Naomi!" Katie knew that Freddie hadn't suddenly grown the desire to care about the rest of world out of nowhere. She knew the real reason.

Freddie took one step closer, one more step closer to showing he wasn't afraid, to showing he wasn't afraid to care. "Yes. It. is. And just because you don't love your sister enough to want her to be happy in any way- _this_ way- doesn't mean that the rest of us don't." His declaration of such a raw truth brought an equally raw slap to the side of his face. Naomi blindly jumped between a struggling, aching, pounding Katie and a quiet, calm, stoic Freddie.

"Just stop it, Katie!" she shouted. "I know I fucked up, alright? But if I'm still good enough for Emily- why does it matter to you!"

She stopped. Really, she just stopped flailing and calmed down with the cold numbness of a person sentenced to death, but not admitting defeat. "When you left Emily, you left _me_, too. As much as _I_ couldn't stand you, _Emily_ needed you. But no one can ever see twins for what we truly are- one mind, two bodies." Katie looked about ready to slap Naomi, but she held her ground firmly, though her hands twitched in rage, confusion, and the cocktail of negativity swirling through her blood. "You hurt her, you hurt me. And maybe everyone got over you hurting Emily, but no one ever even realized how much it hurt me."

"Katie... not to sound like a twat, but you fucking hated me," Naomi said. Freddie simply watched, bobbing his head back and forth, following the sound waves.

The redheaded twin stomped her foot to the ground in frustration. "You don't get it! When Emily's hurt, _I'm_ hurt. When Emily's crying, _I'm_ crying. When Emily's betrayed, _I'm _betrayed. You betrayed the one person in my life who never, ever wanted to turn her back on me, no matter how awful I was. And now I'm fucking torn between wanting to run at her with the joyous news and telling you two to get hitched on the spot or strangling you right here with my bare hands, just to give you a measly portion of the suffering you've inflicted over the years!" And though the rage of techno music continued to echo and the tangled mass of sweaty bodies continued to press against them, Katie, Naomi, and Freddie heard nothing but silence, felt nothing but stillness.

"Guess I'm not the only surprisingly complicated one," Freddie muttered, stealing a glance at Katie.

Ignoring Freddie's comment, Naomi figured she had to step up and say something, because Katie had said so much. But the words wouldn't come out, and her throat closed up, and her feet took her toward her previous enemy, and all Naomi could do was wrap her arms around Katie in the most complicated of hugs she'd ever given or received.

"I'm sorry, Katie... everything I did, I did for Emily. Or at least that's what I believed at the time," Naomi whispered into Katie's ear, trying to ignore the uneasiness that came with hugging someone who felt so much like Emily, but wasn't quite the same. "I'll explain later, I promise."

Katie pulled away first and gave Naomi a quick once-over: ruffled shirt, skirt not on straight, suspenders threatening to slip off the shoulders, shoe laces partially untied. Naomi didn't look like the confident asshole she had once been, and maybe Katie should encourage that. After all, the taller girl had stooped down to give her a hug. Weird as that was, it came from the heart. "I'll help you."

"What?"

"I'm not the fool I used to be, Naomi. I can see you've changed." And somehow she forced a smirk onto her face. "And I want to see Emily get out of the hole you dug for her. Maybe, if you get it right, we can get Emily out of the drunken stupor she's been-"

"What!"

Katie wrinkled her nose at Naomi's slack jaw. "My sister's been practically an alcoholic for the past four years. Did no one tell you?"

Naomi felt it moments before it happened. She was panicking, freaking out ("Did I do that? I made Emily an alcoholic?"), picturing the sweet girl now: older, but still horribly young, hair messy and disheveled in the way that it hadn't been washed in days, sweatpants and an old T-shirt, the days of quirky and often adorably mismatched outfits now gone, and the hollow, sunken eyes Naomi had seen in the hardcore drunks in Cyprus, the eyes of someone who had abandoned all hope.

And it was _her _fucking fault.

Yes, Naomi knew exactly what was going on. Forget the pills, screw the therapy, because the fragile dream Naomi had been crafting was about to shatter. She was about to sink back into a state of mind she'd spent four years getting out of.


	8. Thomas

Thomas needed a break. He'd been working earlier today at his construction job and the drills had been going non-stop all day, giving him a horribly splitting headache. He'd taken meds, but the effect was wearing off. And he didn't do the stronger stuff anymore, not since he'd first hand what an addiction could do and how powerless his friends and Pandora would be to stop it. No, Thomas had sworn off all that stuff four years ago. Especially alcohol. Especially, _especially_ alcohol.

Pandora had decided not to follow him but instead to stay with Effy and find out about all the shit going down. She promised in her very Pandora way that she would tell him later about everything, except of course for the stuff that Effy made her promise to keep secret. Even after all this time, Pandora and Effy still had their strange friendship stronger than ever.

He reached into his pocket and took out a cigarette- the only non-medical drug he put into his system anymore, and that was only if he felt horribly overwhelmed. Right now, he just felt heartache. He felt the hurt of the past four years tumbling back in one giant earthquake, one last enormous aftershock. He had seen it in Naomi's eyes as he past her on the way out; she hadn't been moving when Effy came and put an arm around her fragile shoulders just before Thomas left the bar.

Every instinct he possessed told him to go and help Effy, to do everything he could, but something else told him it wasn't a man's job. Naomi was in Effy's hands now, just as it should be. And he knew that his place was out here, away from the battleground, because he'd never been good at war. However, the war was about to come to him.

JJ and Emily approached quickly, close enough to recognize him. They must have gotten near as he'd been trying to get his damn lighter to work properly.

"Thomas?" Emily's voice held almost no trace of alcohol in it, which Thomas took as a positive sign.

"Hello, Emily, JJ," he said pleasantly as he blew out rings of smoke dancing in the streetlight.

JJ shook his hand vigorously, clearly very pleased to be doing something over than sleeping in his depressing apartment or comforting Emily. "Hey! Is everyone else inside? Effy said to come, because there was a party."

"Party?" He tried to sound nonchalant. "I am just outside, enjoying the night. I do not know of any party. I have not been inside." He smiled at them and prayed that he looked good.

But Emily knew. Emily noticed that slight lift in his voice in the end, indicating how scared he was, showing he was lying. She noticed the too-high curve of his smile and the constant movement of his eyes. She knew he had a secret. "What aren't you telling us, Thomas?"

His cigarette butt glowed strangely in the dark atmosphere- a ticking bomb waiting to go. As the ash dropped onto the ground in slow motion, Thomas took a deep breath. "It's nothing, really. We're just afraid for you, Emily. Because of all the alcohol. We- don't want you to take in any more."

Emily took a step back, a literal step behind her to express her shock. She looked to JJ for defense, but he just looked at the dirty pavement with its strip club ads, local band fliers, broken condoms, smashed beer bottles, and still smoldering cigarette remains. "Actually, E-Emily, he's r-r-r-right." JJ could not bring his eyes up to meet hers, which was probably good. He was spared the pain of the crazy glow forming in them.

But Thomas had to see it, watch her break one last time. What could have easily been the last moment of lucidity she would ever experience turned into something much different.

"I don't need this! Fuck you guys! I can stop whenever I want! But it's better than living in this fucking shit-hole of a world! There's nothing left to live for, not a-" The tirade stopped suddenly as the door to the bar opened. Thomas had assumed she just didn't want to scare whatever patron had tumbled out, but he had it all wrong.

Emily became almost literally rooted to the spot. She felt her breathing slow down and her heart rate speed up, her stomach clench and her legs give out, her mouth move and her throat jam. Nothing made her feel worse and better at the same time. Her whole life (well, four years of it) had been hinging on this one moment and now that it was happening, it seemed as if someone had reached into fantasy and pulled out this awkward ending, introducing it into the uncomfortable grips of reality.

The boys, for their part, did nothing. They slunk into the shadows, sharing strange looks. JJ and Thomas had never really been close but their shared witnessing to a particularly pivotal moment bonded them together in a special sort of way the rest of the group couldn't really imagine.

For a moment it seemed as if Emily would collapse and die right then, but she didn't. She rushed straight at a stunned Naomi, kissing her all over and punching her gut at the same time. Naomi only responded with tears, silently counting the ways she would hurt herself later for making Emily hurt like this. Although she wasn't sure if she even deserved to live long enough to hurt herself, as any form of life is hope, and she certainly deserved none of that for taking away Emily's. Because it became clear to her upon seeing her long lost love that the girl was only a walking corpse, a shell, nothing truly living. She had lost the spark when she'd abandoned all hope.

Naomi finally distanced herself from a horribly disheveled and messy Emily long enough to say the girl's name in a dancing whisper, something too intimate for their current relationship. "Emily..."

This appeared to be too much for the redhead, who simply backed away from Naomi like a crazy person; muttering, twitching, tripping over the discarded rubbish on the street. "I can't, I can't, I can't do this, not anymore, no. No. NO!" She shouted the last bit and hurried away, not knowing where she was going and not caring. She could run into a fucking ditch and split her head open for all she cared. A broken head couldn't possibly hurt more than a broken heart.

Thomas and JJ both stepped out of the shadows, shell-shocked like soldiers. Naomi looked almost poetic, perfectly positioned under the dismal yellow glow of the lamp on the corner, her entire frame sagging and her clothes going along beautifully with it. Thomas had often heard the phrase "tragically beautiful" since he had come to Bristol, but he hadn't fully comprehended the oxymoron until he stood there as an onlooker in the firefight.

Scared shitless, he and JJ slowly meandered toward a visibly shaking Naomi as she sunk to the street, a picture of defeat. The boys ran straight for her, each one of them grabbing under her arm pits. They pulled her to her feet, but she still leaned on JJ for support, sobbing like hell into his chest.

He looked at Thomas, who knew not what to do. But decided to guess anyway because he saw no better option. "Perhaps we should take her home? Do you know where she is staying?"

JJ shrugged. "No- not really. I would assume she's staying with her mum, but I don't know how to get there. I can take her to my flat; that's not far."

Thomas nodded, concern laced into his gaze as he watched Naomi break down and give up. "JJ? Make sure you watch her carefully. And I will help you get her home."

Not used accepting offers for help on things he could easily do himself, it took a bit of strength for JJ to reply, "Yeah. Sure, I'd like that."

They made up the weirdest trio ever, but some sort of life force surged between them as they walked off toward JJ's flat, not thinking of anything but getting there alive.


	9. Pandora

**A/N: This is the second to last chapter. I don't think I can have the first one up until Sunday at the earliest. But it'll probably come on Monday. Anyway. Here's the next one. Not terribly sure how well I portrayed depression and alcoholism, so let me know.**

Naomi did not kill herself that night. She almost did, but JJ took Thomas' words to heart. He'd sensed it a bit early, too, knowing that if he left her alone he might not come back to find her alive. The first thing he and Thomas did when they brought her back was lay her gently on the couch- Thomas had insisted on putting her in the bed, but JJ knew that would only make things worse. JJ always remembered other people's business because he had no business of his own to worry about. Then he'd made Naomi a cup of hot chocolate while Thomas sang a calming French lullaby that his mother used to sing. He'd held her hands, too, because she'd taken to scratching at herself between the sobs. So much pain in her eyes, in her heart. For some reason, all of that made Thomas come to see her as a very young child and not a fully grown adult. Maybe it was the vulnerability, maybe it was the tender version of childlike reality she possessed.

After JJ had made her the drink, he thanked Thomas for all his help, trying hard to suppress the smile that comes with all new friendships. Naomi didn't need to see any smiles right now. Thomas left, waving to Naomi and advising JJ to get her the hot chocolate before she clawed her eyes out.

"Here. Hold it with both hands." JJ extended the cup out to her, but she wouldn't take it. She just dragged her fingernails down her tear-stained cheeks, and he could see small lines of red beginning to form- not bloody yet, but soon. He instantly put down his own cup, snatched both of her hands, and thrust the cup into them. That stopped the motions. He let himself breathe as he sat on the chair opposite her.

JJ watched her sip, sip, sip from the cup as he allowed his to grow cold in his hands. "Are you going to say something, then?"

"What the fuck could I possibly say? What the fuck do you want me to say?" she snapped at him, words biting and snake-like as they flipped off her tongue.

"I'm trying to help, Naomi. Don't fuck me over, too." JJ felt a twinge of guilt as he said this, mainly because he could her depression manifesting itself once again. "Do you have any meds? Anything to take?"

She shook her head by way of defeat. "They... they gave me some shit, but I don't know where it is. I brought it back to Bristol- it's at my house. Somewhere. I don't know."

He tried to force a smile, because maybe this was one smile she needed. "Then it's just you and me tonight. No holes barred, no meds needed. Let's talk." But nothing happened, neither of them spoke for the longest time. Naomi finished her drink, though, and JJ had to go over and sit on the couch and hold her shaking hands. He felt her fingernails digging little gashes into his hands, but it didn't really hurt that much. He knew it would hurt worse to let go.

"Come on, Naomi. Tell me something. Tell me anything," he begged, looking directly into her eyes.

"I don't deserve to live. I don't deserve anything, except maybe a couple of razor blades to the wrist before I go. I _ruined_ four years of Emily's life- I took them away. It's a terrible feeling, to have that kind of power." She managed to get all of that out in a strangely stark- almost robotic- voice.

"But you can give the rest of it back," he breathed quietly. As much as he resented her for leaving, he was getting a grip on the situation: she loved Emily much too much to let her know that the depression had started when their relationship had gone public. Because in reality, sometimes things like that just happened; he would know better than any of the others.

"What?"

"Give her a chance to love you again, because she's not going to leave you."

Naomi smacked her head against the back of the couch in a deliberately aggressive motion. "Fucking hell! She should- she should go! I'm a fucking train wreck!"

"So's she."

"I think one insane person maxes out the quota for a relationship, don't you?" The sarcastic biting words came back with a vengeance.

But JJ didn't flinch. "Sometimes. But sometimes it's all that you need. Sure, you're both fucked up as hell, but your happiness is invariably tied to the rejuvenation of your relationship- for Emily, it's about knowing you love her. For you, it's forgiveness." Naomi blinked at him, confronted with the truth. JJ had an almost clinically caring way of putting things that made them seem so obvious, so clear, and even almost _doable_. "The way I see it, you two are like the clown fish and the sea anemone."

"Come again?"

"The clown fish lives inside the sea anemone, which has tentacles that shock the clown fish's predators, but the clown fish has a special mucous that makes it immune to the anemone's stings. However, the clown fish also protects the anemone from things that will try to eat it. It's called a symbiotic relationship- one that is beneficial to both parties."

Naomi didn't smile, but asked, "Am I the clown fish or the anemone?"

"Anemone," JJ answered without hesitation. "You sting. It hurts. But you're destroyed quickly when you drive the clown fish away. On your own, you're both horribly vulnerable. Together, you're invincible. Well, not really, but I thought it sounded sort of powerful right there."

"It did. Maybe you should be a writer, Jay," Naomi muttered dryly, though not with the same biting sarcasm as before. This, in JJ's mind, was progress.

"Let's talk about you. What do you want to be?" JJ quickly switched tracks, hoping to catch her off guard.

It worked. "Loved."

"Naomi..." Cautiously he dropped his hands from hers and looked for about a half a second like he was going to hug her, but something stopped him and all he could do was twiddle his thumbs. "Do you think you're not? Because you are. Maybe more than you deserve to be. Why did Emily drink herself half to death? Because she _loves_ you. Why did Freddie defend you against Katie? Because he _loves_ you. Why didn't we strangle you when you came home? Because we were so glad you're alive, because we're so glad that you're sorry and you're here to get yourself better, because we _love_ you. I think there are very few people more loved than you."

"How can you love me... I'm a monster," she said with a shudder, although her hands merely shook on her lap and didn't resume the scratching she'd been attempting before.

"You're a hell of a lot better than Cook," JJ pointed out. "And we still love him like the big, disfigured teddy bear he is."

"Cook's Robin Hood now, though," Naomi told him bitterly. "I'm still Naomi Campbell, heart breaker."

"Not for long, you don't have to be," JJ insisted. "Emily's right here, almost in your grasp. You can't lose her now. First, you need some sleep, though, because you're not going to get anywhere in this state."

Naomi looked horrified. "You want me to _talk_ to her! JJ, I can barely even think about her without a serious thought towards suicide!"

He shrugged. "The only way to stop feeling like that is to fix it. Otherwise you'll stumble blindly through the world- your whole live will be an endless loop of these past four years. For both of you." JJ let the last sentence hang, knowing that any mention of Emily would be ten times more effective than just leaving it at Naomi's well-being.

"We'll talk. In the morning. Right now, as a wise man once said, I need some sleep." She grinned at him as he got up and stretched. Naomi spread herself out all over the couch and closed her eyes in a vaguely peaceful manner.

JJ strode over to one of the chairs and just sat, looking in her direction.

"You know," Naomi muttered, her eyes still closed, "I'm not going to commit suicide."

"Not right now. Maybe in a couple of hours," JJ responded. "And I'm going to be ready."

"How come we weren't friends before?"

"Because we were both fucked up as hell."

Thomas was "super surprised" to quote Pandora to find his girlfriend wrestling a bottle of wine out of the fragile, tiny hands of a wildly tousled redheaded girl the moment he entered their flat. Emily.

Emily stopped pulling when she spotted Thomas, causing Pandora to bounce back against the counter. In the process, she lost control of the bottle, which in turn smashed onto the floor. The whole scene sort of threw the three of them into a surreal state with nobody moving to pick up the shards, to clean up the spill. Emily was the first to do anything, probably because she'd been in a surreal state for the better part of four years. She knelt down and began to haphazardly collect the glass, not even seeming to notice the small cuts forming on her hands.

"Emily!" Pandora snapped out of it, swooping down to grab Emily's hands and wrenching them apart. The glass fell back onto the floor, sprinkling into even smaller bits. Pandora helped Emily- who still appeared to be in a state of shock- stand up and muttered something about going to the background. She looked back at Thomas, the saddest expression on her face. "Tomo, can you scoop up all this?"

"Of course, Panda." He resisted saying anything more, asking anymore questions to save Emily from any more confusion.

Pandora led Emily to the bathroom where she rummaged around for band-aids while Emily sat silently on the toilet seat. Never being the best at this sort of thing, Pandora offered what little comfort she could. "Don't worry, Ems; we're all here, and we'll have a right bang-up time doing the badger on her." This seemed to horrify Emily, so Panda immediately reversed her tack. "Did I say doing the badger? I meant, uh, giving her a snuggle-wuffle. Yeah. I mean, it's easy to get those mixed up..." She sighed. "Oh, bollocks. Here." Resigned to defeat, Pandora just took Emily's hand and began to clean her cuts, putting bits of medicine on each of the bright neon band-aids she applied.

"I look like a fucking gay pride flag," Emily muttered, and Pandora had to agree with her: the neon certainly came in the right colors, and staring at it probably wouldn't help Emily's mood. Unfortunately, the only other ones she had were ones Thomas had bought her when her aunt had died, which had hearts on them ("They have little hearts, see? To mend yours, because it's broken").

"Emily, what are you going to do?" Panda was trying- really trying- to speak proper English now so as not to confuse poor Emily anymore.

She shook her head, burst into tears. "I don't know! She's just... I don't know what to do about it anymore. I've wanted her to be here for so long, so now that I've finally got it-"

"Be careful watch you wish for," Pandora intoned moodily.

"Right now..." Emily couldn't finish her sentence, because she'd noticed her hands: shaking, clammy, pale. "Right now I need something... to drink." She stared at Pandora then, for only a moment. One short moment, and she suddenly understood. "What have I been _doing_! Drinking myself fucking insane! I can't give her anything- not love, not help, not even a piece of my goddamn mind! I'm a bloody baby; I just drink alcohol instead of milk!" At this, Emily stood up abruptly and gripped Pandora's shoulders. She shoved with whatever little muscle she had left, that hadn't atrophied from years of constant disuse. But Pandora was so shocked that she didn't respond.

Emily held her pinned against the wall, now looking somewhere between murderous and suicidal. "Panda! I used to think _you_ were bonkers! I used to think _you_ belonged in the nut house! But I look at you now, and you look so normal. _I'm_ the crazy one. Me. It's always been me..." The redhead let go of Panda's shoulders and paced back to the toilet.

Pandora, trying not to appear too shell-shocked, got up and took Emily's hand. "C'mon, sweetie, it's time for bed."

Emily didn't protest; she just cried.

They went past Thomas, who was just finishing up cleaning the beer bottle. He looked up, but didn't say anything. He knew better than that. Panda moved the sheets out of the way for Emily to get in. But at the moment, she didn't seem capable of making any movements out of her own volition. So Pandora gently took her arm, tenderly led her over to the bed, silently tucked her in, and hesitantly gave her a kiss on the forehead. And though Pandora had never been one for friendly kisses, judging by the small smile on Emily's face, she might have to give them more often.

She went back into the kitchen after watching Emily for a few moments to make sure she was alright. Pandora found Thomas at the table, talking on their phone, the cord stretching across the entire kitchen. The beer had been mopped up and the pieces put in the garbage. Now, Thomas spoke quietly into the receiver with a grim expression.

"I think she came because of what we saw," he was saying. "She wouldn't have to explain anything else." He paused, listening. Pandora came up behind him and put her arms around his neck, chin on his head. He allowed himself a smile. "She is there? Is she- oh my. That is very bad, but she is alright now? OK. Good. Yes, JJ. Their special place? I do not know where that is." He simply listened and closed is eyes, trying memorize every last detail that JJ gave him. "Thank you. Yes, I have it. Alright. Good night, JJ. And good luck." Thomas put the phone down and it slid right off the table and onto the pale linoleum floors. A tear ran down his cheek, but he made no noise. "It just makes my heart hurt to see them like this. They were so good."

"Yeah... But then Naomi went ape-shit crazy and pulled a runaway bride." Pandora looked at Thomas seriously. "You know that, right? She had _depression. _And she didn't want to hurt Ems."

He nodded, not appearing very shocked. "This is a noble action. But one that has caused more problems than it solved, I am afraid."

"What's this about the special place, then?" Pandora could see him becoming introspective, and she was afraid of what he might come up with in this state.

"Oh. That." He chuckled lightly. "JJ thinks that it is a good idea to let them meet tomorrow, at the lake in the woods they used to go to. I think he is right."

His girlfriend sighed, bending her knees so that her head was on Thomas' shoulder. "I think they'll come out of it a little better- maybe not premio ace, but not fucked up monkeys, either."

"Yes. That is all we can hope for."


	10. Naomi

**A/N: This is the last chapter. It's a pretty happy ending, I think. As happy as it can be, that is. I don't want to say anything else. Except thank you for all the reviews :] You guys rock. Also, I'm here to shamelessly plug an original TV script I've been writing for fun, and I've been wondering what people would think. So if you're interested, message me. That's all, and it's been a great ride.**

Emily woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. It hurt so much that she cried out in pain the second it began. Pandora rushed in, ready to help, but the second she got in, Emily hurried out and found the bathroom. She threw up whatever had been in her stomach, probably three days worth of it. And though she had never done well in school, Pandora knew exactly what Emily was experiencing; she had seen it enough in the movies and on TV to recognize the symptoms. And she knew she way over her head.

"Tomo! Thomas!" she yelled helplessly. Luckily, Thomas still hadn't left for work. He slid into the bathroom, pants barely buttoned and shirt in his hand.

"What is it..." His voice trailed off when he saw Panda sitting on the edge of the bathtub, her hand on Emily's back. And by the stench and the noises coming from the small girl, he certainly knew what it was. "Oh my goodness. Panda... this is dangerous." He tried to get Emily to speak in between her bouts of vomiting. "Emily, how did you sleep last night?" No response. "Was it hard? Did you wake up a lot? Were there bad dreams?" She managed to nod. "Did you sweat?" Another nod. "Shit." He turned to Pandora. "She's going through withdrawal symptoms- a man in my village died from the same thing. She needs... something to drink."

"What!" Pandora was outraged. "Thomas, I don't think more alcohol is the solution!"

"Unless we get her directly to a doctor or give her more alcohol, she could die."

"She could die if you keep putting that rubbish into her system!"

"Pandora, I love you; listen to me. I do not want to hurt Emily," he began. "But she will not die from this right now. If we let the day play out and planned, I think that it would be best. She is in no psychological state to visit a physician right now."

"What do you mean 'play out'- oh..." Pandora remembered instantly what they'd planned for the day. "Emily?"

She only got a groan in response.

"Emily- do you feel up to seeing a psychologist or a doctor today?" Pandora tried so hard to keep herself in plain English for Emily's benefit.

"Today... I'm just tired," Emily answered. She had stopped throwing up for the moment and looked up the two of them.

Thomas grabbed a towel, knelt down, and handed it to her. She began to wipe up the disgusting leftovers from her cheeks as he gently laid his hand on her shoulder. "What do you say we go to the lake today, Emily? And tomorrow, when you've had a day off, we can take you to the doctor. For now, we can give you a beer- and that is all. To stop you from throwing up again or something worse. You should have a clear mind when you sort yourself out. For now, this is the clearest it can be. How does that sound to you?"

Emily just burst into tears and laid her head on Thomas' chest. "You two are the best fucking friends in the whole damn world."

"JJ, this isn't funny anymore. Where the fuck are we going?" Naomi sat blindfolded in JJ's dinky car, traveling some unknown road in god-knows-where. At first she'd tried to figure out where he was going by the turns, but being JJ he'd known she'd try and had purposefully gone all over the place to confuse her.

"Don't you trust me?" he asked, pretending to sound hurt.

"Don't mess with the feelings of a suicidal person," Naomi warned. She knew JJ never liked to hurt people's feelings, so she thought a little guilt might help him tell her. Or at least stop his bloody singing to Disney classics. It made her want to throw up.

It made him shut up, which she considered good enough. JJ looked over at her, hoping that he, Pandora, and Thomas were doing the right thing. It was so hard to know after all this time what the right thing was anymore. He sighed, keeping focused on the road. He didn't want to upset Naomi, so he stopped singing and talking and pretty much everything expect breathing and driving.

"We're here," he whispered softly. Thankfully, he saw Thomas' car already there. To avoid causing suspicions for Naomi, he parked out of sight of their car, but this put him in sight of Emily. She was too busy sitting on a rock, staring at the lake to notice him pulling up. Quickly, JJ popped open his door, ran to the passenger side, unwrapped Naomi's blindfold, and pushed her at Emily before she could protest.

Naomi stumbled curiously into the general direction of the girl, not realizing who it was until she was too close. "Oh, fuck."

Emily whipped around, nearly knocking herself off the rock. And then she saw who it was. Unlike last night, she didn't run or scream or kick or kiss or do anything but sit and stare.

The blonde approached her ex-girlfriend, and the first thing she noticed were the numerous brightly-colored bandages covering Emily's fingers. "What happened to your hands?"

"What happened to your face?" Emily shot back, nodding to the red marks Naomi had inflicted last night from scratching.

They both stared at each other for a moment and then both burst into laughter. It took a good two minutes for them to settle down, wiping tears from their eyes. "But seriously," Emily wanted to know, "what happened?"

"I got really depressed last night and stared to scratch myself. I was planning on offing myself, too. And I would've if JJ hadn't stopped me," she muttered. "What about you?"

"I was tugging on this beer bottle with Pandora, and it shattered after I let go. I tried to clean up the pieces, but all I got were cuts," Emily explained. "Speaking of Pandora, I think it's her and Thomas and JJ who made us come here."

Naomi laughed again; it felt strange and familiar at the same time. "Well, good ol' Jay blindfolded me and drove in circles to confuse me, so I pretty much knew something was going to happen."

"Really?" Emily smiled at Naomi, and the other girl smiled back. It was simple and so normal and so out-of-place for this situation. "What happened to you, Naomi?"

"Emily, I really don't think-"

"No. I deserve to know, and you'd better fucking tell me." Despite the alcohol still in her system, Emily managed to stop her speech from slurring and her body from swaying. She felt more sober than she had in years. Four years, to be exact.

Naomi turned over the fabric of her skirt in her hands, eyes not leaving it as she spoke. "I couldn't... do that to you. I- it was a combination of genetic predisposition, stress, low self-esteem. Or that's what the doctors said, anyway."

"Low self-esteem?" It was hard for Emily to believe.

"My friend from Spain used to tell me, 'Las personas que tienen la mas confianza son las mas tristes.'" Naomi just left it there, like that explained everything.

"You do know that I don't speak Spanish."

"It means, 'The people that have the most confidence are the saddest,'" Naomi told her. "I had a lot of confidence- but it wasn't quite enough, clearly. I think- I think it was confidence in everyone around me; I knew that everyone could do whatever they wanted, but I felt like I didn't have those same abilities. And combined with biological factors, I drove myself into depression. Major depressive disorder, it's called."

Emily waited patiently for Naomi to actually get to why she left, but it looked like the blonde would need a bit of a nudge. "So then why, Naomi? I could've helped you with it, I could've-"

"I didn't want you to think it was your fault." Silent tears dripped steadily from her eyes, but she made no move to acknowledge them.

With nothing better to tell her, with no good response, Emily simply muttered, "You're crying."  
"I've cried so much over these past four years that I don't really notice anymore. It becomes... normal." Naomi went to brush the tears away, but Emily tentatively put her hand on Naomi's arm. Without daring to look into the other girl's eyes, she began to wipe every little hint of water from Naomi's face, slowly, carefully. "It's sort of fucked up, what our version of normal has become," Naomi whispered, pretending not to notice anything Emily was doing.

"It would be hard not to have it be like that." Emily finished getting rid of Naomi's tears, and they had subsided a bit so all she had left in her were little hiccups and heaving dry sobs. "When everything turns to shit, normal turns right with it."

Naomi took in a deep breath and she looked nervous as hell. "Can we- can we turn it back, Emily? Please?"

The true meaning of that statement was not lost on the smaller girl, but she had already prepared an answer. "It took one day for all we had to be destroyed, four years for us to take the first step in the right direction, but who knows how long it will take to get it back? These are things you can't know, Naomi, but... I'm willing to find out."

"Really?!" The word was out of Naomi's mouth too quickly, too eagerly for her to hide her excitement. And Emily knew instantly that every word, every action, every tear she'd experienced since Naomi's return had been 100% sincere.

"Yeah; I think... I'd like that." It was too soon to kiss, too soon to hug, too soon to do anything, really; anything but Emily reaching over and squeezing Naomi's hand that still rested on her lap. They spoke no more words, shared no more eye contact, but did not break the bond their clasped hands formed. They watched the sun rise in the sky until it perfectly aligned itself in the middle of the sky. It shone brightly on both their faces, illuminating the tiny hints of smiles and glints in eyes. It also brought up another point: Naomi's stomach began to rumble.

Emily smiled more, laughed. "Maybe we should go get some lunch. Together."

"Yeah?" Naomi smiled, too; everything Emily did was contagious, radiating off of her and directly into Naomi.

"Mhmm. I... can tell you about where I'm going with my shit, and you an tell me where you're going with yours," Emily offered. "And maybe we can start over."

"Maybe," Naomi began, "maybe we should try to build up from what we have. I mean, yeah, all we've got is a foundation, so it would be like starting over. But we had a building, and then we knocked it down, so now there's all this debris around us, and we can't just forget that. It's not like we have anywhere to go but up, but at the same time I don't want to forget all we've lost."

Emily nodded, realizing that Naomi was having just as hard of a time accepting any sort of forgiveness as she was giving it. "OK. Let's start there." Naomi's stomach rumbled again. "Let's start there, over some lunch." Emily stood, not letting Naomi go. For once, Naomi allowed herself to be led, she allowed herself to follow, because really the ball was in Emily's court and she had no right to bring it back to hers. And as they walked back to the cars, hands held lightly together amidst the laughs and smiles of their three conniving friends, Naomi thought maybe she could see just a little bit of light at the end of this tunnel, this tunnel that she dug herself.

Because there's a certain beauty in the breakdown. When we reach that lowest low, we know that the high will be all the more gratifying than it would be if we only fell halfway. Of course, when we're broken, we don't often know this. We're spiraling down and hitting the bottom and shooting off to hell. But heaven is right above hell, and to get there, all we have to do is climb.


End file.
